


Strange Rewards

by earth_dragon



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Misha's PCA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earth_dragon/pseuds/earth_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know I’m strange. I’ve made a career out of strange. I’m ok with it. I have to be. Strange is all I have. It’s *me*."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Rewards

**Author's Note:**

> After winning the People's Choice Award, Misha made a couple of tweets in which he indicates that he doesn't really think he deserves the award. It's not the first time he's made self-depreciating comments/tweets. I wanted to write a fic addressing those issues in a gentle kind of way. This is the result. Misha and his willingness to be so weird should be celebrated; that's why I was THRILLED when he won the PCA! Death to normalcy!

“You won!”

“I…”

“Misha you WON!”

It wasn’t often that Misha was at a loss for words, but he was now. In fact, he was struck dumb. He was just a poor little kid from Boston; he didn’t win awards.

“Are you… are you sure?”

“What, are you kidding?” his manager’s voice screamed out, so excited, on the other end of the phone. “Of course I’m sure. You won, buddy. You won the People’s Choice Award. It was just announced.”

“I… thank you.”

“Ha ha! I can tell you’re stunned. And hey, I know you’re working late, so I’ll let you go. But I’ll call you again first thing in the morning. We’re gonna need to draft a press release. Oh, and you definitely need to Tweet about this. You need to thank your fans.”

“Of course.”

“Congratulations Misha!”

“Thanks.”

Misha disconnected feeling like his head was stuck in a cloud. There had to be some kind of mistake. He was just some dumb, chubby kid who moved around a lot. Sure, he loved his job, and he thought he was passable at it -- but he didn’t win awards. That kind of thing did not happen to --

“MISHA!”

The door to his trailer suddenly burst open and a red faced Jensen and Jared came bustling in, with half of the studio crew behind them, all chattering frantically.

“CONGRATULATIONS!”

“THAT’S AMAZING!”

“WE’RE SO HAPPY FOR YOU!”

Suddenly Misha was being hugged and patted on the back, passed around from one person to the next in a swirl of loud, bubbling chatter. He tried to say ‘thank you’, even though he wasn’t quite sure exactly why they were all congratulating him. Phil Scriccia thumped him on the back; Robert Singer pulled him in by the shoulders and posed for a picture; Eric Kripke himself called Misha’s phone and screamed excitedly about how happy and proud he was.

Misha didn’t understand why they were all so  proud.

He just hadn’t had time to process.

He knew everyone was only wishing him the best, and he appreciated it, but he was still so cloudy-headed that he felt like a rag doll being shaken apart by tempestuous children. It was all just so much to take in. Voices were booming all around him, drowning out his own thoughts, and he just didn’t quite understand it all. He tried to smile, to laugh, to return everyone’s hugs, but it was so hot, and everyone felt too close.

It was suffocating.

He didn’t want to be rude, truly he didn’t. He loved these people, and he knew they were there to show him love as well, but he just wanted a few moments peace. Why couldn’t he have that?

It was all just so much. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t normally like this; usually he loved crowds.

He didn’t understand why he was having a hard time breathing.

Suddenly he heard a loud clapping over the din, and Jensen’s voice calling out, “Ok, ok! Alright folks, in a week or two we are gonna have one slamming party to celebrate this amazing People’s Choice win…”

A cheer rose up from the crowd. Misha just looked around the room, bewildered and breathless as people hollered and clapped.

“... and this amazing man,” Jensen continued on after the cheering tapered off. “But right now we still got work to do. And even award winners need to get back to it, so let’s clear out and wrap this up so we can all go home and start working on those party plans.”

People began to file back out of Misha’s trailer, still laughing and smiling, and calling over their shoulders happily that they would see him back on set, all of them proclaiming how proud they were of him. Jensen stood like a sentinel at the open trailer door as Adam Glass and Jared were the very last to file out; they both hugged Misha one last time, and promised to help throw a kick-ass party in his honor in a couple of weeks. Misha patted at their shoulders clumsily and tried his best to smile as they left.

Then, finally, Jensen shut the door and it was quiet -- beautifully, blissfully quiet, and Misha could breathe properly again. He stumbled backwards a couple of steps and promptly collapsed down onto the couch.

Jensen was beside him in a second. “Mish? Hey, you ok?”

“What just happened?”

“We all rushed you,” Jensen answered. He sat down beside Misha but was careful not to touch him, to give him room. “Sorry. I could see you were having some trouble, so I told everybody to wrap it up. We should have thought about it being overwhelming. But everyone was just so excited; we all wanted to congratulate you.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m still not sure what happened.”

Jensen grinned. “You won the People’s Choice Award, dude! You know you were nominated. Actually your fans got you nominated, so how cool is that!”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?” Jensen asked. And then his eyes went wide and a little horrified. “Oh, you DID know, didn’t you? I mean, we didn’t just spring this on you? I thought for sure your manager would have called you by now.”

“Yeah, he called,” Misha confirmed. “He told me. I had just gotten off the phone with him when everyone came in.”

“Ah,” Jensen smirked and leaned back into the couch. “So you’re just riding the high. Yeah, I get it. I remember when --”

“Why was it me?” Misha breathed out.

“What?”

“Aren’t you mad?”

“About what?” Jensen asked cautiously, sitting back up, now paying full attention.

“I’ve never won anything before,” Misha answered, his voice low. “Shouldn’t you have gotten this? Or Jared?”

“What? Misha…”

“Are we sure it’s not a mistake?” Misha finally gave shaky voice to his fear. “I’m just a poor, no-name, homeless kid from Boston. Are we sure I’m supposed to have this?”

“MISHA!” Jensen finally exclaimed, his eyes wide.

Misha wanted to look at him but he just couldn’t; his eyes flitted everywhere but back up to Jensen. He played with a stray thread on Castiel’s dress pants. “Look, Jensen, I’m not like you or Jared. I mean, if anyone knows that it should be you. You’re the one who tells stories about how strange I was when you first met me.”

Misha saw Jensen wince at his words, but he continued on.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way, ok. I know I’m strange. I’ve made a career out of strange. I’m ok with it. I have to be,” he admitted. “Strange is all I have. It’s *me*.  And I think the people who know me get that, at least for the most part, and usually people tolerate me. But that doesn’t mean people love me for it.”

“That is not true!” Jensen exclaimed.

“Jensen, I’m serious, “ Misha huffed. “I’m not ashamed of being strange or odd, truly I’m not. In fact, I’m proud of it most of the time. But we both know that strangeness is NOT something that’s rewarded in society -- in Hollywood, especially. So how did I end up with this? This can’t really be mine. I’m just a poor, homeless kid from Boston.”

Finally Misha turned to face Jensen again, and he was stunned to see sad, shiny green eyes staring back at him.

“You really have no idea, do you?” Jensen quietly asked.

Suddenly Misha found his face cupped firmly in Jensen’s strong, warm hands. He tried to pull away, to not look anymore, but Jensen held on.

“No, stop squirming. Look at me Misha. Listen to me.”

Jensen rarely ever commanded Misha to do anything, unless he was directing. This was his Director voice, and Misha knew well enough to pay attention to it, so he reluctantly stilled and once again turned his blue eyes back to Jensen’s.

“Yes, you are strange,” Jensen said. “You are wonderfully strange and odd -- and in order to be that way you are also one of the most brave and authentic people I’ve ever met! You used to be a homeless kid from Boston, yeah that’s true. But you haven’t been that kid for a long time. Do you have any idea how much you inspire other people, just by being you? You allow yourself to be yourself, and when you do that it allows other people to just be themselves too. Do you have any idea what a gift that is?”

Misha trembled. “N-no, I…”

“And that is why people love you! Don’t ever think you don’t deserve this award, Misha. Your fans worked together to get you on the ballot, and then they worked together to get you the award. You are the peoples’ choice. Would you invalidate the choice of so many people by saying they were wrong?”

“I… I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Misha admitted. He would never want to hurt his fans; he had just never thought it that way. It had all happened so fast and he hadn’t had time to think at all before so many people were crowding into his trailer. Sometimes it still completely astounded him when he realized where he was in his life now compared to where he had come from; it had been a long and not always pleasant journey.

Jensen’s thumbs stroked softly over Misha’s heated cheeks, soothing, comforting. “It’s overwhelming, I know, especially for your first big win. And I’m sorry we all rushed in on you; there was no stopping that crowd once the announcement was made.” He slid an around around Misha’s shoulders, pulling him close. Misha was grateful for the contact and let himself sink into the embrace.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that at all. I had just gotten off the phone with my manager the second everyone burst through the door. I didn’t have time to process anything.”

“We ARE gonna have a kick ass party in a week or two. You know we can’t let something like this slide by without one.”

“I assume it’s gonna be on my dime since I’m the winner.”

“Oh, you are definitely picking up the bar tab!” Jensen laughed.

Misha took a deep breath. It was good to feel Jensen laughing against him, to hear his heartbeat under his ear. He felt much more at peace now, centered and sheltered with Jensen’s arms around.

“Hey, you know how proud everyone is of you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Misha huffed. “Everyone loves me. I get it, Jen, really. Thank you.”

“How about me?” Jensen asked, his nose sinking into the hair on top of Misha’s head. “Do you know how proud I am of you? How much I love you? I mean, I could have voted for someone else; I heard the competition was pretty tough this year.”

Misha let out a shaky breath into Jensen’s shoulder. People were proud of him; he was loved. He was so damn grateful for all of it that it brought tears to his eyes. But hearing those words come out of Jensen’s mouth meant more to him than any award ever would.

“Yeah, the competition was pretty fierce. But me being me, you know I couldn’t just go with the crowd; that would have been far too easy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I voted for some guy named Ackles.”

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